


Spaceboys

by queenofsardine



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Idk what i'm doing, M/M, Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Timeline What Timeline, case fic but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 15:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofsardine/pseuds/queenofsardine
Summary: Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages... Or the story of USS-Hunter, a police starship, on its mission to set things right on Jericho, a former Cyberlife colony. Do they need a consultant android? I thought you'd never ask (because they never did).I do not claim to be a proper Trekkie and have limited knowledge of the Star Trek universe (but unlimited admiration and respect for it!). This came out, when I started watching New Generation and couldn't help myself. If I'm terribly wrong about anything, please let me know, I'll try to fix it :^)





	Spaceboys

**Author's Note:**

> A number of things are different here from the canon (o b v i o u s l y) and you'll see what I mean soon enough. 
> 
> I haven't written fan-fiction for ages (almost 10 years, I'm not kidding), so this is meant as exercise for my writing muscles and me having fun with the wonderful characters from DBH, who probably mutated beyond recognition after the bajillion fics I've read since August. 
> 
> I'm definitely not trying to offend anyone or make any specific point, not least because I don't know where this will go (if it will go anywhere: I can't pre-plan much, because then I lose interest in the story; I'm a discovery type of writer).

The elevator doors whooshed open and out tumbled, arms dangling helplessly about a slender torso, a man. Despite an undignified entrance, he seemed unaffected: in a second, he was already upright, patting nonexistent dust off his blue and grey Starfleet uniform. He made a couple of steps towards the Captain and stopped, noticing how the man stood up to greet him, or, perhaps, deciding to address his introduction to all of the crew present on the bridge. He smiled politely and bent forward with a straight back, like in a ballroom before a dance.

‘My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyberlife to assist you in the Jericho mission. I have graduated from the Academy and completed full Vulcan training. I am skilled in nego-’

While speaking, he turned his head slightly in the Captain’s direction, revealing his right temple awash with a fluttering yellow light. 

So they dispatched an android to advise them how to handle the mess left over by Cyberlife in its not-so-brilliant idea to create an android colony. 

‘Yeah, throw in a rat to help with the plague,’ spat the man in yellow, who Connor immediately identified as the ship’s Security Officer Gavin Reed. ‘Phuck, Starfleet’s losing its-’

The man never finished whatever he wanted to say about Starfleet’s competence in manning starships, turning on the balls of his feet to his station as the older human in red sent him a menacing glare. 

‘At ease. Captain Fowler. Welcome aboard USS Hunter,’ he commanded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Connor nodded curtly, like an exemplary student, a tuft of brown hair bouncing off his forehead. The Captain looked and acted tired. The android cross-referenced the ship’s logs for everything that occurred to it and its crew since it left base: a landing party gone catastrophically wrong two weeks from the launch was the likeliest cause. A prompt on his inner screen suggested expressing condolences, but Connor remained silent. His social programming was far too advanced to disregard a multitude of factors that spoke against that course of action. 

‘We’re all happy you joined our team,’ Fowler continued loudly in the meantime. 

‘It’s a couple of weeks to Jericho - the plas… your people have put themselves in a very remote corner of the galaxy. Take your time in getting used to the ship. I’m sure there’s more than one person here who’d appreciate your input, and I’m not talking just about the Jericho mission,’ he gave Gavin another leaden look and walked back, sagging heavily into his seat. Connor’s seat as consultant was to his left. 

The one to his right was empty.

Connor tilted his head.

‘If you do not mind me asking, I was assigned as partner to Lieutenant-Commander Anderson. It would seem expedient if I met him as soon as possible to discuss the details of my mission, Captain.’

Reed snorted. Fowler didn’t move or sigh.

‘Be my guest,’ he said eventually.

***

Connor did not expect this simple sub-task to be an issue. It was a priority and he even felt a buzz akin to excitement in his chassis: built primarily as an achievement-driven model that could, if a need arose, be best promoted as a machine that always achieves its mission, he preferred action. If he could get closer to his objective or at least remove any obstruction before it, he would be doing what he was meant to do. Now it meant meeting Henry Anderson, a decorated Starfleet officer, who he had uncovered and skillfully dismantled an interplanetary Red Ice network fueled by the greed of its Ferengi masterminds. It was a simple task, which for some reason was proving exceedingly hard, even on a ship as small as USS-Hunter with its few living quarters.

Barring the docked shuttles and the simulators at Starfleet Academy, it was Connor’s first time on this class of starship: moderately-sized and agile vessel capable of reaching higher speeds for hot pursuit. Nothing he saw walking through the hallways, however, was unusual: if he wished, he could upload the ship’s schematics with a single touch to any of the computer panels in the corridors; he just chose not to do it. The ship’s AI was an impersonalized old-school code with pre-set replies to commands that felt jarring to his CPU. Compared to his mind palace, as smooth as the surface of Amanda’s lake, the USS-Hunter computer was a barren, jagged terrain.  
In the end, he did not have to use it, having finally located the First Officer in the canteen. According to the camera footage, the time he had stayed like that was nearing three hours. RK800 proceeded along the narrow hall without hesitation.

The lights were dimmed, blueish, fainter even than his LED as he entered the room. He gave it a quick scan, unnecessary as he already spotted the back of the only person hunched over in the corner. Next to him was a bottle of Earth malt whiskey, Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey, Sinatra Select, 45% ABV, which explained the Lieutenant-Commander’s elevated bpm. For his BAC and vitals, Connor would need a more thorough scan and a sample of blood or saliva, but he could tell from where he was standing that the man was considerably inebriated.

Mission: Meet Lt. Anderson.

The android straightened himself, adjusting social interaction protocols a notch for talking to someone in a state of intoxication, and approached the table in three resolute strides, stooping next to the man to get into his field of vision. Henry - Hank, the file prompted - Anderson did not look well: his hair could use a wash and some trimming, the same went his beard, and the pale baggy skin of his face indicated lack of sleep and abuse of alcohol beyond recreational purposes. He looked only remotely like the sharp, confident man with a proud smile, surrounded by his team in the picture after the Red Ice case had been closed. Connor increased the volume and slowed the tempo of his own speech. 

‘Lieutenant-Commander Anderson. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by Cyberlife, at Starfleet’s request.’

The man barely turned to him, continuing to stare into the opposite wall, though his grip on the glass filled with the amber liquid slightly tightened. Connor waited patiently for a reaction, preparing to repeat his introductory lines in case he was not heard. His programming helpfully advised that… unfocused humans took time to process information. 

‘Whaddya want,’ Anderson was slurring a little, and his voice was rasp, tired.

Connor weighted his options. He could postpone the conversation until a more opportune time when his partner to be was less moody and more sober; act decisively to show that he meant business and renounce drunken behavior at one’s station as unprofessional and inappropriate; or keep up the conversation in a friendly manner to gain the man’s trust. He opted for the last one, reasoning that it would help in his work on this ship to be on good terms with the person who was to instruct him directly. He sat down on the bench, his knee bumping into the First Officer’s leg inadvertently, before he settled and retreated it. 

‘My mission is to assist you in finding the perpetrator of unauthorized android shutdowns on Jericho,’ he explained, running his voice in a soft, neutral tone.

The left tip of the man’s mouth crawled up. He huffed.

‘Yeah? Well come back when you got homicide for me to solve and mind your fuckin’ business,’ he muttered, reaching for the bottle with an intention to refill his glass. Connor helpfully pushed it towards him, dismissing a warning that letting Lieutenant Anderson drink more was not conductive to better communication. The man’s intonation was derisive; his words definitely did not disprove the conclusion Connor made based on his file: Hank Anderson did not appreciate the trending android-human equality. Convincing him to change his mind, RK800 believed, could be a useful side mission, not strictly required by his brief. Connor flagged it as not urgent and archived it for later. He was not sure if he needed to pursue it or if he even believed in that equality - the initial data packages installed in all newly-assembled androids predetermined a pro-deviant approach to fellow machines, but they did not make an android fresh off the assembly line a deviant. It was a background task, a personal mission for every new plastic being: to be initiated or grow into deviancy and fully join the android people. Connor had not achieved it yet: as a specialized model, he had prioritized other assignments since activation and to this moment.

‘I understand that not all humans have accommodated to androids’ new legal status and that it might go against your preferences to work with me,’ he agreed, pursing his lips to mimic consideration and hesitance before proceeding with a more determined approach. ‘But you have been assigned this case, Lieutenant, and Cyberlife allocated me as a state-of-the-art prototype detective and negotiator,-’

The bench produced a sharp squeak against the floor as the man stood up, propping himself against the table. Connor’s LED blinked rapid yellow.

‘Listen, you plastic asshole,’ Anderson held his index finger, wrapped around the glass, to Connor’s face. Now that he was standing (sort of), one could see how big and tall he was. Whatever dark place he was going through did not take away that much from the man he clearly used to be. ‘You’re nobody. That you uploaded shit into your brain doesn’t make you a detective. I ain’t need no help from you.’

Connor’s adaptive software was running at maximum speed; he was at a loss whether the human was neutral or hostile, willing to cooperate after all or obstinately defiant. He looked up just in time to see Hank grow even paler.

‘Fuck, gonna be sick.’ And he collapsed on Connor, before the android could run a preconstruction.

Mission: Meet Lt. Anderson. Mission Status: Accomplished.

Relationship with Lt. Anderson: ?

Error. 

Relationship with Hank: Awkward.


End file.
